


never planned on someone like you

by softgrantaire



Category: Druck | SKAM (Germany)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Newsies, David is Katherine now, Found Family, M/M, Newsie!Matteo, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Transphobia, Wealthy!David
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 19:30:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19837027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softgrantaire/pseuds/softgrantaire
Summary: They were loud, they were dirty, and they were crass, but David would do anything for them. This family that he'd made.Or:A Newsies AU based vaguely on the outfits David and Matteo wore to the Abiball in which Matteo sells newspapers and David is a cartoonist with a secret being hidden by a wealthy family.





	never planned on someone like you

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone this is definitely DEFINITELY based on their outfits for the abiball.
> 
> For those who know Newsies, David is based on Katherine Plumber!
> 
> Warnings for period typical prejudice. I'll add warnings at the beginning of each chapter.
> 
> And yes, the title is from Newsies.

It was a day like any other. He woke, went to work, came home. It  _ should _ have been a day like any other.

And it was, until he realised too late that he hadn’t eaten all day, nor did he have food in his apartment to make a meal. He sighed, grabbing his wallet off the table by the door before checking his watch. He swore lowly; it was too late to go to the grocer’s, and all of his usual cafes and restaurants were closed.

He hadn’t been back in years, but he remembered a small restaurant owned by a friend of his parents that tended to be open quite late. The Mahmood's were a good family, hardworking. They had to be. It was cruel, how much the effort a family had to put in to succeed relied on the colour of their skin, or their religion. His family seemed to forget this, their money erasing their past struggles from recent memory.

It’s fitting, he supposed. Their money was erasing  _ him  _ \- their most recent struggle - but had forgotten their history.

It was a short walk to  _ Mahmood’s,  _ and his feet remembered the journey well enough. It was unusually loud for this time of night on a Tuesady, rowdy voices spilling into the street. He braced himself and walked in, hoping this would be quick and painless.

The room went silent as soon as the door closed behind him. There was a group of probably a dozen people, all looking close to his age. They sat with ease, draped on tables and chairs and each other. It wasn’t something David was used to, with how he was raised.

_ Newsies. _

They had to be the same boys that he walked past every day on his way to work, yelling out headlines his coworkers had created. Selling papers that including cartoons he’d drawn. It was a hard job and one that didn’t pay well; no wonder they all looked exhausted. There was a newsie lodging house just around the corner, if David’s memory served him correctly.  _ Mahmood’s  _ was probably a local haunt.

“Amira,” one of them called from the back. His cap was backwards and he was tilted back in his chair. “Someone’s come in. Look’s rich.”

The boy next to him slaps him up the head, knocking his cap off. “Shuddup, Abdi.”

“What?” the other boy - Abdi - exclaimed, fixing his cap back on. “He does!”

“David,” a voice called from David’s left. He turned and smiled.

“Amira,” David sighed, happy to see a familiar face. “How are you? Is your family well?”

“It’s been a long time since we’ve seen you,” she said in response, raising a single brow. He didn’t miss the way she looked him over. Probably taking stock of his hair, his suit. It’d been a while since they’d seen each other, after all. There was plenty different. “We’re doing as well as we can, but we’re managing. How are you?”

“Managing as well, I suppose.”

“What are you up to?” she asked, handing him a menu.

“I’m employed at The Tribunal,” David explained. He fiddled with the menu for a moment, opening and closing it a few times. “I draw political cartoons.”

“Told you he was rich.”

It was meant to be a whisper, but carried in the relative silence of the restaurant. The smack that followed carried as well, as did the resulting yelp.

“Abdi,” a third voice admonished. He wasn’t the one to smack Abdi, but he was pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked just as tired as the others - though his exhaustion might have had a particular target - and he had a red handkerchief tied around his neck.

“What?” Abdi gesticulated widely. “Look at his suit. And he talks all proper like.”

“Just shut up, would ya?”

“Sorry about him,” a soft spoken boy at the front said with a roll of his eyes. He was messy, disheveled hair shoved under a cap. Like all the other newsies, he looked older than his years. David was an artist, he saw the world through the eyes of someone who wanted to immortalize it on paper. He saw the slope of this boy’s nose, and the smudge of dirt or ash on his face and immediately itched for a pencil. This boy deserved to be remembered.

It wasn’t unusual for David to fixate on someone in this way; no, it was a rather common occurrence. But what was  _ uncommon  _ about this occurrence was how quickly he wanted to know more. There was a certain beauty in the lines around his mouth, the bags under his eyes. David wasn’t one to find romanticism in hard labour, in suffering. But there was something strangely soft about this boy.

The boy was continuing to speak quietly, but David heard him as loudly as if he had shouted. “He’s an idiot.”

“Hey!” Abdi called, affronted.

The boy looked over his shoulder. “What? You can't tell me I'm wrong. You’re an idiot.”

The boy with the red handkerchief made a noise, ignoring them both. “Both of you, shut up. Pretty sure we’ve seen this one." He turned to David, narrowing his eyes in thought. "You look familiar. I’m Jonas, for all intents and purposes.”

“I’m David,” he nodded.

“You said you work for the Trib?”

He nodded again.

“Thought I recognized ya,” Jonas grinned and gestured around him. “We work for the Sun.”

“Do you -” David coughed, suddenly awkward. “Eat at  _ Mahmood’s  _ often?”

He cringed at how stupid he sounded. 

“I don’t know if  _ eat  _ is the right word. They prefer coming to bother me.” Amira knocked the soft spoken boy’s feet off the table. “Feet off the table, Matteo.”

_ Matteo. _

The grin he sent Amira changed his face. He was still messy, still disheveled, but the lines seemed to disappear from around his eyes. It wasn’t even directed at David, but he felt his breath catch. What was happening to him? He has seen plenty of pretty boys, why was this one affecting this much?

David realised he had been paying too much attention to the boy -  _ Matteo  _ \- and shook his head.

“Time to leave, paying customer here.”

“No,” David interjected too quickly. “They don’t need to leave. I’m not staying, if you could please wrap it up for me? If you have any sandwiches left from lunch?”

Amira sent him a glance, but didn’t respond. Instead she turned to the newsboys - though at second glance it looked as if there are female newsies gathered as well - and sighed. “Fine. But keep your feet off the table.”

“You won’t remember their names ‘cause you’ll probably never see them again,” Jonas started, gesturing at himself and the others. “But hey. It’d be damn rude of us not to introduce ourselves. Abdi - you first. Apologize."

“Abdi,” the first boy reiterated, scratching his head. “Sorry about what I said.”

“Sam,” a girl near Abdi said. She was tapping what looked like a slingshot against her knee, and David made a note to never be on the receiving end. "I'm not sorry about what he said, you do look rich."

“Call me Carlos,” the boy who had knocked Abdi’s hat off said before Sam could say anything else.

He met Hanna - a girl with red hair and a sweet smile - who introduced him to a girl called Sara, who just nodded. Eventually there was only one left and his world seemed to narrow in on Matteo again.

“Matteo,” he said. He was close enough to David to reach out a hand to shake. His hands were calloused, proof of the hard work he did every day, and his grip was sure. They shook hands for slightly longer than socially acceptable, but this was the only time he’d ever see this curious boy. If he was more interested than he should be, no one would be the wiser. 

“Pleasure to meet you,” he said to Matteo, before remembering his manners and turning to the rest of the newsies. “Pleasure to meet all of you.”

“Sit down, I’ll bring you a sandwich.” Amira sent him another look. “Sorry if you have to share a table with this rabble.”

She headed to what David assumed was the kitchen, leaving him alone with the newsies. All of them. He chose a seat across from Matteo - of course he chose a seat across from Matteo - and felt himself fidget. 

“Political cartoons,” Matteo started, leaning forward on his elbows. “How’d you get involved with that?”

“Uh, I’m - I like to draw?” David had been taking etiquette lessons since before he could read, had been raised by nannies that never let him be anything but perfect, and then he met a strange boy in a restaurant and turned into a stuttering mess. His grandmother was probably rolling in her grave.

“Was that a question?” Hanna smiled. She seemed to take pity on him, and wasn’t that a novelty concept. He was used to anger and offense at his birth, but not pity. Matteo had really done a number on him. “Not sure?”

“No, no. I like to draw,” David nodded, still looking at Matteo. “My father works for a paper, but I’m not a very good writer, so I chose cartoons.”

“You any good?” Sam called, still fiddling with her slingshot.

“I believe so.”

Amira interrupted them by placing a sandwich in front of him. It was wrapped neatly in paper, but she waved him away when he offered payment. “It’s on the house. It’s left over from lunch. Come back soon, it’s been too long.”

He stood, almost disappointed that he had decided against eating at the restaurant.

“Pleasure meeting all of you,” he repeated before he left, with one last look at Matteo. 

The walk back to his apartment was abnormally lonely. He’d only been at  _ Mahmood’s  _ for a handle of moments, so he was bemused by the feeling of loss in his belly. He can admit that it felt a great deal like jealousy. He’d never had a group of friends that he could count on, never had the freedom to. He was just a lonely boy going back to his lonely apartment to draw lonely pictures.

He sighed, unwrapping his sandwich as he walked. The moon was bright tonight. New York was a dirty city, but it was home. He’d longed to runaway once, to leave the city and find somewhere new. Somewhere he could belong. Somewhere he wasn’t attached to a name, wasn’t attached to someone’s perception of what he should be, how he should act. There was still a part of him that desired to make something new for himself, but it wasn’t an all encompassing ache like it had been before he’d moved out of his family home.

He had a job, he had money, he had a roof over his head. That was enough for now.

-

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Matteo startled, letting out a breath when he saw it was just Jonas; he chuckled softly. “Not sure there’s anything rattling about in there that’s worth that much.”

“Well, I dunno,” Jonas began, mirroring his position. “I’m sure you have a few thoughts that are worth a bit.”

Matte huffed with a small smile. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

It was a warm night, and the moon was as bright as it could be in this town. The fire escape of the Manhattan newsies’ lodging house was dirty, like most of the kids who paid pennies to live here. But it was a place of comfort for Matteo, and many others. He didn’t like reflecting much, but standing on a fire escape and staring up at the moon was as good a place as any to think.

Here, resting his elbows on the railing, he could see all of New York. It wasn’t for everyone, his city. It was loud and dirty, crowded with people. But there was something about the way it made Matteo feel small that grounded him. 

He wasn’t alone, there were thousands of dirty boys stood on a fire escape staring at the moon. There were plenty of dirty boys with sad pasts and open secrets. He wasn’t an outlier, he belonged. He couldn’t really explain the comfort he got from knowing he wasn’t unique, but he was grateful. 

“What’s in there now? Maybe I can tell you if it’s worth anything.”

Matteo shook his head and turned his back away from the skyline. “Nah, it’s nothin’, promise.”

“Is it that boy we met last night?” Jonas mirrored him again, leaning his back against the rail. “The fancy one with the slicked back hair?”

“Told you not to get your hopes up,” Matteo said softly after a brief pause.

“What was his name?” Jonas very well knew his name, but Matteo decided to play along.

“David.”

“David.” 

_ David. _

David with his fancy shoes and calloused fingers and soft words. David who he’d met for all of five minutes. David who he should forget about. 

Matteo looked down at his hands. He curled his hands into fists, pretending to inspect the old scars on his knuckles that had been there for so long he’d memorised their shape, even if he couldn’t remember how he got them. “I don’t know why I’m still thinking about him. I shook his hand once and barely said hello.”

“You pinin’, Luigi?” Jonas nudged Matteo’s shoulder with his own. Matteo’s eyes snapped up to meet his.

It wasn’t a secret, the boys who went to the bath houses, who made time on a fire escape with other boys, who enjoyed a quick few minutes under the docks. 

Matteo had gone long enough thinking how he felt for other boys was perverse. It was illegal, not that Matteo had never really given much thought to the law. Crooked, something to hide. He wasn’t ashamed anymore, every time he snuck out. And he knew there was a dozen newsies only a few feet away that would have anyone who said it was perverse or wrong on the ground and swollen shut. 

But there was a difference between ‘not being a secret’ and being something you talked about.

“He was handsome,” Jonas continued. Apparently tonight was the night to discuss it, though. “Much better than that Brooklyn dick you were seeing.”

“His hands weren’t as soft as I was expecting them to be,” Matteo replied after a moment, not knowing what else to say. He didn’t bother asking how Jonas knew about Liam, and didn’t bother denying that he was a dickhead.

Jonas sent him a look he couldn’t decipher. “You could definitely do worse.”

“I don’t know why I’m still thinkin’ about it.” Matteo shrugged for what felt like the tenth time during this conversation. “Besides. Never gonna see him again, anyway. And you know what them rich families are like. Fairy like me, he’d probably have me sent up the river before I’d even said hello.”

Jonas just hummed in response, tossing an arm around Matteo’s shoulders. “He seemed nice, at least.”

  
  
“Was that worth anythin’ then?”

“Maybe a penny or two.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment and leave kudos! It's a short chapter, but hopefully will be updated regularly!


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